I Like To Jog
Denny Chan, Co-Chair
I like to jog. I’ve found it to be a great time to clear my mind, get some fresh air and release some endorphins. There’s this very beautiful path right by my house, which is about a five minute walk away from a nearby lake. Along the jog, I usually pass the lake, some condominiums, gas stations, restaurants, a busy intersection, and so forth. Given the lack of activity in a small, Midwestern town like mine, going for a daily jog can be one of the highlights to my day.
On July 3 of this year, the eve of our nation’s birthday, I went for a jog in the early evening before dinner. I was starting my trek over the bridge, enjoying the sun setting on the small lake, when two cars passed me on my right. The first car was chock full of what appeared to be high school-age youth with their windows rolled down, having what seemed to be a genuinely good time. They were screaming something, but I couldn’t quite make it out. As the second car passed me, I concluded that the two cars were people who knew each other and that they were following one another. The second car was also packed with high school youth with their windows down and music blaring loudly.
And that’s when it happened. Some youth in the second car screamed loudly. I couldn’t make out everything they were saying, but I definitely heard the word, “ASIAN.” With their fingers and daunting looks, I had been singled out—for whatever reason—based on my race. This wouldn’t be the first time something of this nature has happened in my hometown. But perhaps the most annoying part was the timing of it all. Because this shout out occurred only about a quarter into my jog, I had the remaining 1.75 miles to think about this incident. Talk about clearing my mind.
It’s times like these when I really wish I lived elsewhere in the United States…anywhere else with a more sizeable people of color community. It does not surprise me that on the eve of our nation’s founding (the 200th-and-something-anniversary, mind you) that I would still so deliberately be made to feel like an outsider in a town I was born and raised in. But even if it’s not a surprise, it’s still painful, realistic, and unfortunate.
My friends from college and I have talked a lot about Midwest brain drain, people who are either born and or raised in the Midwest who leave to go somewhere else more “cosmopolitan.” Indeed, lots of my college friends have either left the state of Michigan or are making plans to leave the Midwest. Locations like New York and California often top the list of places where people end up. And I sometimes find myself fantasizing about what life would be like on a coast: living in the proximity to ethnic enclaves, hanging out with my friends, being active in a community that shares and espouses my values and ideas.
Usually about half way through the day dreaming is when I stop myself with the thought, “Denny, you’re FROM the Midwest.” A friend and mentor of mine who runs a racial justice non-profit organization once told me, in response to my question about how she’s able to sustain herself in this community doing the work that she does, that if everyone were to leave, this place would not get any better. This struck a chord. I do want to help build a more inclusive community, and I don’t want other people to have to face the experiences I did growing up in a hometown like mine.
What are the personal costs of doing this type of work in a community that is not supportive though? It can make the work more frustrating, challenging and tiring in nature. But this struggle, even if it is simply to make my community a more inclusive place, is worth it. Sure, other people can come here from the New Yorks and Los Angeleses of the U.S. and call this their “home,” but as someone born and raised in the Midwest, do I not have a greater responsibility to stay around and clean up this mess?
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